I Stayed in the Darkness with You
by Non Timebo Malo
Summary: AU. After witnessing the death of his parents, Dean is haunted. Once Sam persuades him to seek the guidance of a priest, it's not long before Dean and Fr. Castiel Novak form a bond more profound than either man imagined possible. Destiel, implied Sabriel.
1. Enter Sandman

**Summary: AU. Witnessing the catastrophic death of his parents has left Dean Winchester haunted. At Sam's pleading request, Dean agrees to speak to a local priest about the things that are troubling him. Soon, Dean is forming a more profound bond with Father Novak than he ever thought possible. Destiel, implied Sabriel. **

**A/N: This first chapter is sufficiently angsty, fair warning. But please don't be dissuaded, it'll lighten up. It might even make you smile toward the end of it.**

**_I Stayed in the Darkness with You_**

**Chapter One: Enter Sandman**

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><p>Dean awoke with a start, gasping in the stark silence of the room. As he blinked, trying to make out his surroundings in the darkness, it all came back to him. The motel room. Falling asleep. And the dream. Again.<p>

"Dean?" Sam's voice carried through the dark room. He and Sam were on a 'vacation' in the sleepy little town of Pontiac, Illinois, one Dean hesitated to refer to by that name. The word vacation typically implied that the vacationers had a set date to return to their normal lives, or at the least that they had the intention of returning. But Dean wasn't sure he and Sam even had plans to go back to Lawrence. Ever.

"Mmm?" Dean slurred, trying to fool Sam into thinking he'd been sleeping all along, snoring at the most. But Sam wasn't stupid. He wouldn't think that.

"Did you have the dream again?"

Shit. Of course Sam figured it out. He always did.

It all started fifteen days earlier, back at their childhood home in Lawrence, Kansas. Sam and Dean had had a normal childhood, growing up thus far in a cute little house in a nice little town with a happy little family. Completely ordinary. However, all of that changed on one fateful night: May 2. Their parents, John and Mary, had gone out for a drive, celebrating their 25th wedding anniversary, not even bothering to inform 25 year old Dean and 21 year old Sam where they were headed. As they'd said, "It's our night and we're headed wherever the road takes us."

In a highly unfortunate twist of fate, that road had carried them nowhere good. It had been a cool night, extraordinarily cold for May, and a freezing rain was falling. Dean could remember teasing his parents, telling them to be careful and that the roads were slippery as they'd told him countless times when he'd been a brand new driver. He remembered the sound of John's 1967 Chevrolet Impala pulling out of the driveway as he and Sam waved goodbye, planning a fun-filled night of their own.

The second the Impala had fully disappeared into the darkness of the night, Sam and Dean had bolted outside, sharing a tattered umbrella and running to the Roadhouse down the road. Their plan for the night had consisted mainly of beer, beer, girls, and a little more beer. The memory was perfectly clear, as though it had been yesterday. Hell, it was probably a whole lot clearer to Dean than yesterday, or any other day since May 2. Because May 2 was the only day Dean kept re-living, over and over, stuck in his own worst nightmare. He'd brought that piece of the past into his present, and he was sure it wouldn't leave him, no matter how far into the future he got.

As they ran down the road, talking and laughing and already starting their night off on what seemed like the right foot, the brothers had heard a loud crashing noise, the horrible sound of metal on metal that shattered their easy nonchalance. Dean could recall throwing a sidelong glance at Sam, and he remembered the look of horror he saw plastered on Sam's face. They had stopped dead in their tracks, whipped around and taken off, full-on sprinting in the opposite direction, searching for the source of the shattering bang.

Their footfalls, perfectly in sync on the wet gravel, sounded somehow strange to Dean, more like thunderclaps than the soft, simple noise of feet falling on the ground. The rain was growing heavier and heavier as they ran, but the boys were relentless, never slowing down, never missing a beat.

Dean wasn't sure what he'd been expecting. Of course, in a time like that, one would be bound to think the worst, to assume the most horrible truth possible. But sometimes those adrenaline-based suspicions turn out to be absolutely correct.

As Sam and Dean rounded a bend in the road, the source of the metallic crash came into view. A monstrous freight truck, easily an 18-wheeler and probably far larger, was spun around, sitting horizontally across the road, looking nearly unscathed aside from a miniscule dent in its front grille. And sitting on the edge of the road, there was Dean's worst fear.

Shiny black metal.

Rain fell on the wreckage, the fenders of the black classic twisted into unnatural angles, the front bumper laying off to the side about 20 feet. The Impala. Or what was left of it anyway.

"Sam, stop," Dean growled, a sharp, gravelly command. "Stay right there." He pointed to a spot on the edge of the road a safe distance from the car, a distance from which Sam could see what was happening but could never make out the details.

Dean wasn't even sure how he got Sam to listen to him, to stay put. Knowing his little brother, Dean had doubted that Sam would obey his order, fully expecting the younger man to follow him right into the scene of the crash. But apparently something in his voice had left no room for argument, no room for a challenge of any kind, because the next thing Dean knew, he was standing right next to the Impala. And he was alone.

Dean stooped down a bit, peering through the driver's side window but finding himself unable to make out anything at all inside the car, knocking on it frantically, wanting his father to just open it already. When nothing happened, Dean tried the door handle, but his pulls were to no avail. Locked.

He wasn't sure what to do, coherent thought not making itself readily available. After what could've been a split second or ten minutes, he had no fucking clue, Dean finally had a plan ready. He grabbed the bottom of his hunter green cotton t-shirt, pulling it with force that left no leeway. The cloth tore easily, a large strip unraveling in his hand, the hand he wrapped it around the second the action became possible. With one easy thrust and a whispered "Sorry, Dad" Dean's cloth-covered fist flew easily through the window, sending glass shattering across the interior of the car.

Surprisingly enough, John did not sit behind the steering wheel, but rather in the passenger seat. It was a rare occasion when Mary drove the Impala, but apparently tonight was one of those times. Dean's heart sank immediately when he saw his mother slumped forward against the steering wall, her blonde hair tinted with shades of pink-ish red. Her arms were in two entirely different but equally anatomically improbable positions, one balled up in a fist and smashed at an unnatural angle between her body and the steering wheel, the other twisted in the strangest of ways, the fingers laced with John's.

"Mom?" Dean called, and when no response was to be heard, he called a little louder, "MOM?"

Nothing. Stark silence.

The rest of his rescue endeavor passed in a blur, and by the time he heard sirens nearing from down the road, the harsh reality of the situation had already hit him. They were dead. There was no hope. There was already no hope when Dean reached his parents, never mind once the emergency responders reached them.

All Dean could remember was the way the flashing red, white, and blue lights had played strikingly in the drops of falling rain, mixing with the liquid of his tears and making the world look like a streaky, poorly painted flag. He remembered the cold, no the downright bitter, wind whipping against his jeans, numbing his skin where they were torn into little rips that weren't a part of the pants' original design. But most of all, he remembered how stained the seats of the Impala were, red washing over their normal peaceful, creamy tan, making them look like the poor, innocent fields haunted by the echoes of past wars that had taken place on them, tainted by the blood shed there and resonating with chords of a life all their own.

And then there were those eyes. His father's had been closed at least, peaceful, easier. It was Mary's eyes that haunted Dean. Eyes that were wide and blue and shocked, as though she'd seen it coming, seen Death at her doorstep in the most shocking of ways, seem that dually coming at her and knowing she'd had no control over her fate, over the fate of her husband on their 25th anniversary, her only solace the feel of holding his hand one last time. Those eyes were so distinctly dead that they shook Dean right to his very core, and the reverberations of that shaking had not yet ceased, not even weeks later. They still echoed in his subconscious; no matter how hard he tried to repress the memory, and damnit he tried his best, he was haunted.

"Dean...?" Sam repeated, gently prodding his brother once more for a response to the question he'd proposed, his voice soft and careful in the darkness of their motel room.

The air felt heavy to Dean, making breathing feel like a battle. But he gathered strength from the reservoir he'd been tapping into almost constantly as of late, needing to answer Sam, needing to put his fears to rest. "Nope, I'm fine Sammy. Don't you worry about me."

Sam simply snorted in the darkness, recognizing the lie just from his brother's too-quick answer and too-even tone of voice. It was almost robotic, an answer Dean had used so often in the past days that Sam recognized it instantly. "Bull. Shit. Dean. I know you had the dream again, I'm absolutely positive. I just wish you'd talk to me about it..."

"About what Sam, what?" Dean answered, his voice harsher than he intended, causing even him to grimace at the sound of it. "They're dead. There's no changing that, and no amount of feeling our feelings in brotherly expressions of love or chick-flick moments will change that."

Sam was rendered silent for quite some time, simply unable to form words of any kind. What could he say to that? He'd been horribly worried about Dean for the past two weeks, the way he wouldn't even speak to anybody for days after the accident; the way he left all the funeral arrangements to Sam and Bobby, a close friend of John's, the man who found John his love, his Impala, who'd always had a hand in raising the boys; the way Dean never left John's mechanic garage, fixing and buffing and washing and waxing the Impala, refusing to give up on it, needing to fix it, to have it 'back to normal', no matter how far from normal it would always be; the way he had eaten and slept in terrifyingly meager portions in that garage until the Impala was fixed, back to looking 'brand new'; and especially the way Dean had been awaking every night screaming or gasping for air, constantly living in fear of sleep for fear of having the recurring dream he'd never actually explained to Sam.

"I'm sorry," Dean murmured, breaking the silence that had left Sam at a rare loss for words. "I'm really sorry Sammy. I didn't mean to go off on you like that, and I hope you realize that. I just... I just don't really want to talk about it. I can't. So get some sleep, and don't worry about me, I'll be okay."

"Alright..." Sam answered, a sigh in his voice, but he rolled over and went to sleep, leaving Dean to his thoughts as he'd requested. Sam was a good kid like that, a good little brother. He listened, he understood, and above all, he respected Dean's wishes. Always had.

It seemed like an eternity before Dean saw the first rays of the morning sun peeking through the single window of the little motel room. He hadn't drifted back off into oblivion, partly because he was just too tired to even fall asleep and partly because he really just wanted to avoid the dream. And he knew it would come the second he fell prey to the sandman. It always did.

Dean had already taken a drive down to a rundown diner in the tiny center of the little town, picking up greasy breakfasts for himself and Sam. His original plan was to wait for Sam, to have breakfast together, but he'd been too hungry. He'd given in and just eaten his bit of bacon, pouring himself a cup of the stale, black coffee available in the room, and was already contemplating running back to the diner for a second serving of bacon and eating breakfast with Sam anyway by the time his brother stirred in bed.

Sam was funny that morning, almost secretive. He'd taken a long, silent shower, not bothering to turn on the small radio in the bathroom as was his custom. He hadn't really made any effort to speak to Dean, really only answering direct questions. He'd even eaten his breakfast funny, his eyes unfocused as he sipped his coffee and munched halfheartedly on his ham, egg, and cheese breakfast sandwich, the sort he usually devoured ravenously.

Maybe it had been a single thing, or maybe it was the combination of things, but something tipped Dean off that Sam had something up his sleeve. He had to. "I can see the wheels in turning in that head of yours," Dean said all too knowingly, "What are you planning?"

Sam remained aloof, still holding onto some secret of his. "Uh, nothing too much," he responded, but his eyes betrayed him, "Wanna go for a drive?"

"Only if I'm the one doing the driving." Dean had driven every single day since he'd fixed the Impala, as if it wasn't even a question anymore. And Sam knew why. He knew he'd never want Sam to feel responsible for an accident that harmed or even killed his brother. He knew he'd rather have the burden on himself than ever put that on his little brother. And most of all, after what they'd seen, he just wanted to be the protector.

"Not today," Sam said, mimicking that commanding tone Dean had used so effectively on him, praying that it would work. "I mean, please? I haven't driven the Impala since... Since everything. For old time's sake?"

"Put the freakin' puppy dog eyes away." Dean rolled his own eyes in feigned exasperation, but Sam saw a ghost of a smile cross his lips, the closest Dean had been to a smile since the accident. More importantly, as Dean walked toward the door, he threw the keys at Sam in that way he always used to, that playful, brotherly way Sam missed so much.

"Do I at least get to know where we're going?" Dean asked once they were seated in the Impala and Sam was driving along the quiet road. A mist hung in the air, setting Dean's nerves on alert, pushing him toward a dangerous edge in his psyche.

"It's a surprise."

And with that, the rest of the ride was silent. Sam concentrated on the road, sneaking worried glances at Dean every few moments, knowing the fog would be stressing him out. Dean watched Sam, in part to make sure his eyes remained on the road and his hands remained on the wheel, and in part just to avoid looking out at the fog. The radio was turned off, something so uncharacteristic of Dean that it worried Sam perhaps more than anything else. That radio hadn't been turned on since the accident, or not that Sam knew of at least. Perhaps his brother thought it'd be 'a distraction', some catalyst lurking in the shadows and waiting to set off the next horrible accident. Regardless of his reasons though, Sam didn't bother trying to touch it. He wanted Dean comfortable, especially today.

Sam pulled the Impala into a parking lot on the other side of town, and the second he rolled in into park, Dean released a disgusted little grunt. "The fuck, Sam? Why are we at church?"

Sam averted his gaze, almost as though he was embarrassed by what he was about to say. He answered his brother's question while staring out the windshield. "I'm worried about you, Dean, really worried about you. You won't talk to me, I'm amazed you even let me drive this car today. I'm fully aware of the fact that you hardly sleep, and when you do, you typically wake up screaming. I know you can't stop thinking about the accident, I know you're still living that day, over and over, and I want to stop you. I don't want you to be stuck in May 2nd forever." Dean saw Sam blink quickly as his eyes glazed over a little bit. Sam was about to cry. "And Dean, I set up a meeting for you. I know I should have told you, but you'd never have agreed to it if I'd asked. So I just did it."

"Sam, I don't-" Dean began, but his brother cut off his words before he was allowed to finish the thought.

"Dean please. I am begging you. Please just go talk to the priest. He's a nice guy, I promise. He's young and he's new and he gets it. If you don't do it for yourself, do it for me? Just give him a shot; you don't have to come back if you don't want to. Just this once. Please?"

Dean sighed deeply. Every fiber of his being wanted to refuse, wanted to physically pull Sam out of the driver's seat, throw him into the passenger seat, and drive the Impala back to the motel himself. The last thing he wanted to do was talk to some priest. And yet, as he watched his brother, still staring out the windshield in a refusal to look at him, as Dean saw one single tear run down Sam's cheek, he gave. Sam had been through a lot lately, almost as much as Dean himself had, and Dean couldn't bear to see his little brother like that. Maybe it was just a gesture to please Sam, maybe Dean couldn't bear to cause him more pain, but regardless, Dean found himself getting out of the Impala and walking toward the church door, Sam jogging after him the second he figured out that Dean had silently agreed.

The inside of the church was cool and dimly lit, its emptiness causing every little noise to echo through its walls. The high ceiling was intricately crafted from dark wood rafters, standing in contrast with its light tan walls, giving it an old-world feel. Dean turned back, tossing a questioning look over his shoulder toward Sam. It would appear that they were alone.

But apparently Sam knew something Dean didn't, because he instantly knocked lightly on a door just to their left. It seemed that whoever was inside must have been on their way out anyway, judging by how quickly the door opened in response. A short man stood in the doorway, wearing some long robe which Dean would never in a million years have known what to call. Nor did he care what it was called. The man had light sandy brown hair and light eyes to match, standing a good six inches shorter than Sam, an annoying little smirk glued to his face.

"Sammy," the little man said, recognizing Sam in an instant. Every aspect of this man for some reason irked Dean endlessly, and the way he called Sam 'Sammy' only furthered his annoying effect.

"Hey Gabriel," Sam replied. Huh. So they knew each other. "This is my brother, Dean."

"I assumed," Gabriel replied, taking a slow, drawn out look at Dean. "Aren't you a little old to come running to the adults when you have nightmares? I was expecting a child..."

"_Gabe."_ Sam spoke in a mortified tone, his face conveying shock as if Gabriel had just told Dean his deepest, darkest secret. "Sorry Dean, I-"

"Aren't _you_ a little old to be an altar boy?" Dean returned, annoyed, cutting off Sam's apology.

Gabe laughed, the sound of it as obnoxious to Dean as everything else about this Gabriel character. "Touché."

"Uh," Sam began, still looking horribly embarrassed, "Is Father Novak in, Gabe?" He turned his attention away from Dean as he spoke, looking down instead to meet the eyes of the shorter man. He couldn't even bear to look at his brother after Gabriel had given away the fact that Sam had told him about Dean's dreams. He wouldn't have been surprised if Dean turned and walked out on the spot. And he wouldn't have blamed him either.

"Duh, you _did_ have an appointment with him," Gabriel answered, still laughing like a child after telling what he thought was the funniest knock-knock joke of all time. "He's in the confessional." The second Gabriel pointed toward the door across the church, Dean was gone. He had no intention of sticking around _that _guy any longer than necessary. Gabriel could be Sam's problem now.

When Dean reached the little dark wood door, adorned with a simple little cross made of coal-black iron and a doorknob made of identical metal, he wasn't sure what to do. First he reached for the doorknob, but then he thought better of it and raised his hand awkwardly to knock instead, swearing he could hear Gabriel laughing from across the church as he did. However, before he could move his hand to hit the door, it stood ajar in front of him. _Man_, what was with these people and opening their doors before one had a chance to knock properly?

"Hello," a smooth, gravelly voice said immediately, catching Dean off guard, "I am Father Novak. But Castiel will do just fine." The man standing in front of Dean smiled, parting thick pink lips to flash a straight, white smile at him. Dark hair stood on all ends in a hairdo that made the man look as though he'd just rolled out of bed. But it worked. It probably wasn't even possible for his hair to look any better any other way. Endlessly deep cerulean eyes pierced Dean's, conveying a friendly, understanding greeting of their own. He was about as tall as Dean, perhaps a little shorter, and slight of frame, not overly muscular, but adequately built. His long black robe hung loosely over his shoulders, apparently a couple of sizes too large for him, only driving home the fact that he was brand new to this parish.

"H-hi Cas," Dean stuttered, then finished the thought with, "-tiel" after he'd realized he'd left off the end of the man's name, as though he had been trying to make up some stupid pet name. After a second, he amended, "Father Novak."

Castiel simply laughed it off, a deep, throaty noise that matched the richness of his voice note for note. "Cas, huh?" he questioned. "Well nobody has ever called me that... But I like it. Feel free to make use of it." He finished with a comforting smile, extending his hand.

Dean reached out for his hand, shaking it as he introduced himself, "Dean Winchester."

"So I've heard," Cas murmured, motioning for Dean to follow him into the small confessional room.

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><p><strong>Here's hoping you found that enjoyable, even though it did start on a bit of a somber note. Opinions would be much appreciated, and a next chapter should be up shortly, after I edit it a bit. Until then, though, <em>so very much love to the reviewers.<em>**


	2. Two Sides, Same Coin

**Chapter Two: Two Sides, Same Coin**

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><p>"So," Cas began as soon as he pulled up a chair in front of him for Dean to sit in, "Would you feel comfortable with explaining to me exactly what's been going on with you? Perhaps start with the night of the accident, and we can get into the dreams later."<p>

Dean sighed. "Uh, I guess."

But Cas recognized that tone. "Listen, Dean, I know you don't necessarily wish to be here. I know you're probably here just to please your brother, and that's admirable of you. Please know, though, that I'm here to listen and that anything you say in here won't leave this room. This is between you and me... Well, and God, but I have it on pretty good authority that he won't alert the presses."

Cas paused, laughing at his own joke while Dean chuckled along, mostly to make the priest feel as though his jest had done its job and lightened the mood. "I also want to let you know that I understand what you're going through, Dean, for the most part. My parents also passed away when I was very young. My mother was sick when I was a child, and after a courageous battle with her long-term illnesses, she succumbed to them when I was seven years old. My father had rather a hard time dealing with her death, and he resorted to every sort of drink and pill you could imagine. Now, that's a dark road to go down, Dean, hardly ever leading back into the light. He, like your parents, was killed in a car accident. Except the difference was that his accident didn't involve another car; it involved only his car, his pills, his bottle of whiskey, and a tree. And his young son, petrified in the backseat, ensnared in his seat belt and watching the whole thing play out, watching his father go unconscious as he slammed forward into the steering wheel, watching the cabin of the car catch fire, and being pulled out just in the nick of time by a good Samaritan who happened to be passing by. That man, the one who pulled me out of that car, he took me in, raised me as though I was his own child, and in many ways, I was. He helped me to find my faith, and his actions inspired me to this line of work. But that's enough about me. Can we talk about you now?"

Dean watched tears build up in Castiel's eyes as he spoke of his plight. And _damn_, that was _horrible._ It had been bad enough walking up to the Impala and finding John and Mary... the way they were. But actually watching the whole thing play out? Feeling the flames and not being able to do anything? And so _young?_ Castiel's story had also brought back memories for Dean, pushing him to the brink of tears as well, not only due to the priest's downright awful story, but also in part due to the facts it dredged up about his parents' accident. Suddenly, Dean was overcome by the urge to share his story just as Castiel had, to let this other man, this complete stranger, in on things he'd never even told his own brother.

With one deep breath, Dean began to tell his story, knowing full well that this would tear down the levee, knowing that he couldn't possibly hold back the way he _really_ felt, knowing that just speaking the words, just _hearing_ himself say them, would bring the wall he'd built around his heart crashing down in front of this man he'd just met. And yet, somehow, he didn't care. _At all._

"It was raining, and my parents went out for their 25th anniversary. Supposed to be a good night. They didn't tell me or Sammy where they were going; I think that was because they just wanted to be spontaneous, go wherever the road took them, you know? So Sam and I were gonna go out too, have fun too, but when we were just a little ways down the road, we heard it. It was an awful, metal-scraping-metal, ear-shattering noise. So we went running to check it out. I'm not really sure what it was I expected, but what I saw made my heart skip. I saw a truck sitting across the road, fully blocking it off, and I saw the Impala... all bent and broken and off on the side of the road. I didn't know what to do, but I sure as hell didn't want Sammy to see anything more than he'd already seen, so I told him to stay back, and I don't know why he listened to me, but he did. And I'm glad. I don't regret that. I wouldn't want him to be sitting here instead of me, or _with_ me, so I'm _so_ glad he listened. I ran up to the car and tried to get the door opened, but it was locked, so I broke the window in.

'And there went everything. I saw my mom... there in the driver's seat. My dad was in the passenger side, and he was pretty bad too, but it was _her_ that drove me over the edge. I don't- I can't... I can't explain it, but trust me, Cas, it was _awful._ I swear, it drove burning, searing hot iron straight through my heart seeing her like that, and her _eyes._ They were... open, haunted. Terrified.

'It took me a while to even figure out what to do, and by the time I came to, I realized there _was nothing I could do._ I _couldn't_ help. And I don't know, maybe if I'd reacted sooner... Maybe I'd have..."

Cas had been sitting up straight in his chair the whole time, nodding to imply that he was listening, but he hadn't interjected a single word. However, when he felt Dean's guilt, saw that he was about to blame himself, the young priest couldn't hold back his words. "Dean you _couldn't _have done _anything._ I know that feeling all too well. Maybe if I had been older or known better or known what to do everything would be ok. Yeah, I've been around and around that point with myself a _million_ times. Please Dean, _don't _do that. _It was, by absolutely no means, your fault._ And understanding that will be a crucial point in helping yourself, in letting me help you."

Dean's tongue darted out from between his lips as he licked them, a nervous little action designed to hold back the challenge he'd considered giving Castiel. Because it was different with Cas; he'd been too young, he was stuck in the back seat, he couldn't have helped. Different. Right?

But Dean stopped his protests, subconsciously telling himself that that just wasn't the point. Instead, he gave a single nod and continued. "Once the responders got to the scene, it kind of hit me for the first time. And that was when I just broke down. I'm not even sure how the rest of the night played out, or the days following it for that matter. I just know I had to save the Impala at the very least, because it was my dad's _baby_, he _loved_ that thing. So I had to save her. I spent the majority of my time, hell, probably _all_ my time, in the shop working on her, getting her back to brand new. I stopped only for the wake and the funeral, which I'd left completely up to Sam, my dad's friend Bobby, his wife Ellen, his daughter Jo, and her fiancée Ash, to plan. Come to find out, the driver of the truck walked away from the scene with only a few scratches and bruises to show for it. And a court date for driving drunk and 'involuntary manslaughter.'"

Cas's face registered some odd combination of shock and grief for a moment before returning to its previous placid mask, and Dean knew what had caught him off guard. The truck driver had been driving drunk, which meant that his story about his father had probably dredged up certain undesirable memories in Dean. Poor guy looked miserably guilty for ever bringing it up.

"Alright," Cas murmured, looking as though he was struggling with the words he wanted to form, "Dean, the one piece of advice that I'd like you to take, that I _beg_ you to take, is _please_ do not blame yourself. It wasn't your fault, and there was nothing you possibly could have done. The Lord works in mysterious ways, Dean, and perhaps it was just their time. Take comfort in the fact that they were able to spend their last night together, never having to be split by the veil of death. I know it's hard to accept; acceptance is an ambiguous concept really, but that's something we can work towards. I know that doesn't come easy."

And there it went. A single tear rolled down Dean's cheek, and soon more followed. And more. And more. And more. This man, the protective brother, the strong son, the boy who never broke in front of anyone because he'd rather be a shoulder to cry on than the one doing the crying, simply shattered. There with Cas, he felt like he could. Like it was a privilege he'd long been denied and now was allowed.

The priest reached for a box of tissues he'd hidden in a corner of the little room, holding it out to Dean patiently, waiting silently with his arm extended until the other man noticed it. When Dean finally opened his eyes, he grabbed two tissues off the top of the box with a gruff, "Thanks," to which Cas simply nodded as if it had been his duty and he'd simply fulfilled it.

As sobs continued to wrack Dean's body, memories flowing through his mind like wildfire through the driest of forests, Cas pulled his chair a little closer, putting a hand on Dean's shoulder comfortingly.

And Dean froze.

That touch had sent a certain electricity though him, one he'd never felt before. The tears didn't stop, but they certainly lightened as he opened his eyes to meet Cas's. Green connected with blue in a chemistry that bound them together, bonded them somehow, deeper than what a single conversation ever should have. Sitting in that room together, they were no longer just a priest and a man in need of some serious help, no longer just the two grief-stricken children whose lives had been shaped by two separate simple twists of fate, two separate accidents that had re-written life as they'd known it. They were more than that; their connection was infinitely deeper. They'd found trust.

"De-dean," Cas mumbled after they sat for a while like that, the word jumbled into what Dean could've sworn had been a stutter.

"Mhm?" was his simple response.

"I think... I think that's enough for today. You should... You should go; come back tomorrow and we'll talk some more. If you want I mean?" That last phrase was, judging by the words and structure, a statement. However, Cas's tone made it sound more like a question. And those were _most definitely_ stutters, Dean noticed.

"I'd lo-" Dean cut himself off, realizing he was about to say 'love to' and chastising himself for how incredibly silly that would have sounded. After a moment's thought, he amended, "That'd be great, Cas. See you tomorrow," jumping up out of his chair and walking out the door as he spoke.

When he was already out in the open air of the church, he heard Cas's silky voice one more time. "And Dean? It wasn't your fault."

Dean took a peek back over his shoulder and met that cerulean gaze again, feeling a strange sensation in his stomach, something like butterflies. _Because that's not chick-flicky at all,_ he thought, throwing a smile backwards to return Cas's. And with that, he left the church, shaking his head to clear it the second he was in the outside air. He could hear the Impala's engine start as he walked toward it, making a bee-line for the driver's side. Sam wasn't about to take him on any more mystery trips.

As he reached the door, he realized with dismay that Sam wasn't sitting in the passenger's seat. Nor was he alone.

Dean tore the door open much more brutally than he'd ever have done had he been thinking straight. But the _thing_ in his car's passenger seat sent logical thinking out the window.

"Get _the fuck_ out of my car," Dean growled the second the door was opened.

And Gabriel simply laughed, that obnoxious, child-in-a-candy-store laugh of his, grabbing for the door handle to his right. "Get your panties out of a bunch, Dean-o," he said once he was standing outside the car with his hand still resting just under the window. "I was just spending some quality time with Sammy here."

Sam had taken the hint and scooted over to the passenger's side as soon as Gabriel got out of it, so Dean just got into his car and slammed the door, whipping it into reverse and pulling away from the parking spot before Gabriel had even removed his hand. He took a single look in the rearview mirror as he drove away, only for a split second watching Gabriel watch him drive away with a smirk.

"What the fuck, Sam?" Dean snorted out as soon as they were away from the church parking lot.

"He's really a nice guy Dean..." Sam said softly, "I'm sorry he was such a dick to you. I think... I think you two are just too alike and that's why you don't get along. But I think you can learn to like each other. He'll grow on you."

"Yeah, alright Sam, I'll go friend him on Facebook as soon as we're back at the motel," Dean responded, his voice heavily laced with sarcasm.

Sam chuckled. "Anyway... How was Father Novak? That's what's important here. Are you going to meet with him again, or?"

Dean nearly didn't recognize this 'Father Novak' term. As far as he was concerned, the man with the perfect dark hair and the equally perfect deep blue eyes was Cas. Castiel at most, if they were being really formal. "Yeah, I'm coming back tomorrow. Cas was great, really helpful."

"Cas?" Sam repeated, never having heard the name before.

"His name's really Castiel," Dean said, feeling the strangest fluttering sensation in his chest as he heard himself speak the other man's name. "Castiel. Cas. Whatever."

Sam just smiled. "Good, I'm glad. Hopefully this will help you, Dean. I was really worried for a while there."

"Thanks Sammy, I really do appreciate it," Dean responded. "And yeah, I think he's helping already. Tremendously."

* * *

><p><strong>So there's chapter two then. Dean and Cas are much alike, and Dean and Gabriel bicker, quite a lot really. Hopefully their bickering provided at least a little tiny bit of comic relief from all the angst? Maybe? Also, <em>trust <em>is nice- these two broken boys need it. **

**Opinions will find quite a loving and appreciative home if you should choose to bestow them upon me ;) Reviews are _lovely._**

**Also, _why _did I just believe it would be a brilliant decision to watch "Death's Door" again? I blame masochism. _Bobby_... Plus a commercial featuring Cas came on whilst I was watching it. So mhm. Bobby. And Cas. And Destiel. And... And... And... I'm just gonna go edit the next chapter now. Yeah, I'll do that.**

**Another chapter should be up relatively soon. I hope you're all enjoying this! **


	3. In Fear and Faith

**Chapter Three: In Fear and Faith**

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><p>The next week passed in a blur, time seeming to run into itself and muddle together. Or, the times Dean wasn't with Cas were like that anyway. The time spent in the confessional of the little Church stood solidly in his mind, the only beacon in a world so blurry. Dean and Father Novak spoke about everything under the sun- rock music, antique cars, the Bible, the priest's time in the seminary- everything <em>but<em> the deeper specifics of their lives. Dean assumed Castiel was easing him toward a far more heavy talk, one that he sensed was right on his doorstep.

Each new morning came far too slowly as far as Dean Winchester was concerned. He was up at the crack of dawn each day, hardly even having attempted to attain some sleep during the courses of most nights. But, of recent, perhaps the lack of sleep wasn't all about fear of nightmares, perhaps something else was keeping him up... Excitement.

It was a Tuesday morning meeting when Father Novak told Dean he wanted to venture back into Dean's story. When Dean's shoulders slumped ever so slightly, though, the priest told him to go back to his motel room, have a restful day, and come back the next day ready to get serious once more.

Dean's Tuesday night passed in a restless mess of tossing and turning under the too-scratchy blankets of his motel bed. At least he'd actually noticed they were too scratchy, considering how he hadn't noticed a single characteristic about, well, _anything_ before the past week. It was as if he was coming out of some deep, numb sleep and awaking to a new dawn.

At any rate, thoughts of Cas kept Dean up all night once again, at times making him wonder if he'd actually whispered aloud, hoping Sam didn't hear the string of things coming out of his mouth. Things like "Why did I even notice how full and pink his lips were?" and "Who cares about messy dark hair?" and "Why exactly did I find myself captured by those blue eyes?", culminating the night with the one phrase Dean _really_ hoped he hadn't uttered aloud, "And why, why the fuck, do I care so much? Why do I want to see messy hair even messier or see blue eyes flutter shut?"

The very second the alarm went off from the little table between the two beds in the motel room and Sam blinked his sleepy eyes, Dean yelled, "Rise and shine, Sammy!" making sure his brother didn't intend to hit the snooze button.

Sam mumbled a few phrases that sounded relatively pissed off, but he rolled out of bed. Mission accomplished. Dean rushed his little brother through every aspect of his morning routine, successfully getting them into the Impala within 15 minutes of waking up.

"Why the rush lately?" Sam asked once they were on the road, Dean pushing the Impala faster than usual down the quiet street, "You've been like this for days now. What's the Apocalypse upon us?"

"I have an appointment. I intend to be on time," Dean responded, staring straight through the windshield as he spoke.

"Since _when_ have you been so worried about punctuality?" Incredulous notes took over Sam's voice, and Dean could see his younger brother turning to cock an eyebrow at him from the passenger seat.

"Since I probably shouldn't fuck with the priest's schedule," Dean replied, watching Sam roll his eyes from the other side of the car.

The church was cool and dark as Dean walked in, the lights not yet turned on. Sam had gone out to breakfast with Gabriel after a situation Dean _really _didn't want to talk about. He _would_ remember to feed his little brother before going out next time. That was for damn sure.

Dean sat in the very back pew of the small church waiting for Cas to arrive, cradling his head in his hands. He hadn't bothered to turn on the lights when Gabriel unlocked the church door for him, deciding instead to allow the rising sun streaming through the stained glass windowpanes to cast an ethereal glow through the church, colors bouncing off the dark wood like a prism. Castiel had gone out to pick up coffee a few minutes earlier, so Dean simply waited there with his eyes closed, thinking.

It was quite some time before Dean heard the heavy front door of the church opening with a loud creak behind him. He was going to stand up and let Cas know he was there, but the priest had apparently already noticed him. "Good morning, Dean," he called out before the door even dropped back on its hinges.

Dean whipped around. "Morning Cas," he answered, watching the man walk toward him, the colorful light bouncing off him in a decidedly angelic fashion.

Cas didn't move toward the confessional where they'd spoken yesterday, didn't even turn on the lights. He simply sat beside Dean on the rickety little bench, holding out a cup of coffee. "I... figured it was likely that you'd be here. So I got you a cup of coffee while I was out. It's black, but I have milk and cream and sugar in my house, which is right across the lawn should you desire such things."

Now, Dean liked black coffee. He always had, never had he asked for it any other way. But he liked the idea of venturing over to Cas's house even more. He was still fighting himself in that internal struggle when Cas finished his sip of coffee and broke the silence, "Regardless, I am going to walk over to the house and get myself some sugar. I normally take my coffee black, but I'm in the mood for something a bit sweeter this morning. You're welcome to join me."

"Sure," Dean said as he got up, the little bench creaking at the loss of weight.

Castiel led the way to his house, which, as he said, was right across the church's back lawn. The inside of the house was simple, hardwood floors and pastel walls complementing darker furniture. The air conditioner was cranking in the early summer heat, keeping the house cool and fresh. A candle burned on the kitchen counter, sending a warm, homey smell through the room.

"Perhaps we could just speak here today?" Cas asked, his voice raising nearly an octave over a couple of the words as though he was nervous. "It would probably be more... comfortable. If that's ok with you?"

"Uh," Dean began, taken aback by the offer, "Yeah, that'd be great, Cas. Thanks."

The living room was much like the entryway, cozy and homey. A cream-colored throw rug lay in the middle of the floor where a wooden coffee table stood already equipped with twin coasters for their coffee cups. Dean placed his still-black coffee down on one of those coasters as he sat back on a tan couch accented with sky blue and chocolate brown pillows, the blue perfectly matching the ocean-mist color of the white-trimmed walls. Cas mirrored his action, placing his coffee down and falling back on the couch as well.

"So Dean, how was your night? What did _you_ dream about?" the priest asked, re-aligning his stiff white collar in the middle of his black button-down shirt as he spoke.

Dean paused for a moment, not wanting to tell Castiel he hadn't dreamt about _anything_ because he hadn't slept. He settled for a little half-truth. "My night was fine, yours?"

Cas took a sip of his coffee, his blue eyes looking decidedly tired, as though he'd slept only about as much as Dean had. He settled for an answer along the same lines. "My night... It was sufficiently restful. Did you have any of your dreams?" A look of hope crossed his face.

"Nope," Dean answered simply. It _was_ true. "Looks like you're helping already."

Cas laughed, but then his expression turned far more sober. "Now Dean," he began, scooting a little closer to the other man on his little couch, "If we have reached an adequate level of trust, do you think you will be able to tell me about the aforementioned dreams today? I fully understand if not, I just-"

"Yes," Dean replied, cutting the priest off mid-sentence. He trusted Cas completely. "Although you're probably just gonna think I'm crazy or something. Like size-me-up-for-a-straight-jacket crazy."

"No," Cas laughed, "I will not be estimating your straight jacket size. I know you are not crazy- maybe grief-stricken and a little masochistic, but not crazy."

"Yeah. Maybe you don't think so _yet_. But you will."

"I won't. I promise."

Dean sighed deeply. Sure Cas was saying that now, but Dean highly doubted he'd hold to that opinion after hearing of the dreams which had been plaguing him. Regardless, he trusted Cas, and, for whatever reason, that was enough.

* * *

><p><strong>This chapter's a tad shorter than the previous two, but another should be up soon. I just really like the idea of Dean trusting Cas so much.<strong>

**In the meantime, it'd be quite nice to hear some opinions. Enjoying it? Like the pace? I'd rather like to hear from you! Much love to the reviewers.**


	4. Named

**Chapter Four: Named**

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><p>Dean averted his gaze downward for a moment, biting his lip and pondering just where he should start. Castiel simply sat and waited patiently, his mere presence a comfort. It wasn't long before Dean began telling the story he was absolutely sure would change the young priest's mind regarding his charge's mental stability, make him think Dean really <em>was<em> as insane as the man himself believed. Hell, Cas wouldn't be _thinking_ he was crazy, he would _know it._

"So it started off simple," Dean began, "kind of with what was to be expected I guess. At first I would just see the accident in my dreams, over and over again, and I'd always shoot up in bed when the dream reached a certain point- my mom's eyes. But then, one night, it was different. Longer. Worse.

"I got to my mom's eyes. And they were so... Just horrified. And so _obviously _dead. And that was when I always woke up. Every time. Never failed. But this time, I didn't. It kept going. All of a sudden, she fucking _blinked._ Blinked. What people who are _alive _do."

Cas's eyes went a little wider at the word 'fucking', as if he hadn't expected anyone to _ever_ say that, not to a man in a stiff white collar, not to _him_. Dean paused for a second, murmuring a quiet "Sorry." but when Cas nodded forgivingly with a small, understanding smile and said, "Don't worry about it. Just tell your story however you are comfortable doing so," Dean continued, no longer even minding his hardly-there filter.

"And I kind of got sucked into her mind, it was like I was seeing what she saw moments before. So, in the dream, my parents were driving, talking and laughing and just having a grand old time. Then, out of nowhere, these big, blinding headlights were coming toward them. The truck. The guy clearly had his high beams on because, seriously, _blinding. _She didn't know what to do, and she was blinking against the light, and then everything went dark. The Impala was still moving, she was still driving, but the truck sort of disappeared for a few seconds, and my dad gripped her hand and whispered that he loved her, and then she could see the faintest little outline of the truck again, but mostly she was only watching the guy inside. I don't know how, but she could see him so damn clearly, and they just made full-on eye contact, and I fucking swear that dude's eyes were _yellow_. I don't mean light brown or gold or hazel or light green or anything; I mean decidedly, sickly, _yellow._ Like a fucking highlighter.

"And then the guy's eyes turned back to a normal color, just some regular brown, and it was almost like he looked shocked, like he had no idea what the hell was going on or how it happened, but it was too late. Some dark cloud came up from the truck like it's engine overheated or something and in that instant, my mom whispered that she loved my dad too, and then there was the force of the blow then everything was gone."

Cas's thick, pink lips twitched as though he was about to speak, but Dean gestured for him to stop with a simple hand motion. He wasn't finished, and now he was on a roll. There was no stopping now.

"That's how it started. It was a few nights of that dream and nothing more, but now? Now they're all different, like a new horror movie rolling through my head every damn night. And now they're not even about my parents anymore, although my mom's eyes seem to always find their way into these dreams. But they're about me now. Me and Sam. It's the damndest thing. The dreams always start with coordinates written on a piece of notebook paper, and I can't even fucking read coordinates, but somehow I can in _that world._ We always know exactly where those numbers are leading us, and we get in the Impala with a map and drive to the town, no matter how far away. And once we're there, we're always on some wild goose chase, looking for that guy with the yellow eyes, but it always turns into something else.

"Some person or family or newspaper always alerts us to some underlying problem with the town, and we have to help somebody before we can move on. We hunt _things,_ and we save people, and it's _horrifying._ Like when did I learn that ghosts don't like rock salt? How did I know that shape-shifters and werewolves don't like silver? Since when do you chop a vampire's head off to kill the thing? And _when _did I learn to speak flawless Latin and exorcise anything under the sun? _What. The. Fuck?"_

The priest had been sitting quietly listening to Dean without a single sparkle of disbelief in his eyes the whole time, ignoring the stream of profanities Dean was so sure the blue-eyed man had hardly ever heard before this particular conversation. Cas was leaning forward with his legs crossed, resting his elbows on his things and his head in his hands, looking at Dean as though he was spinning the most believable, non-fiction tale in the world. But when Dean mentioned the Latin and exorcisms, the priest perked up. "Would you per chance remember the words to any of these exorcisms?" he asked.

The question struck Dean as strange. _Why_ would that be the thing that Cas had to say about all this? But he nodded, half out of exasperation and half out of simple curiosity about Cas's motives, and took off in the flawless Latin he'd memorized after giving so much use in the dream world.

_"Regna terrae, cantate Deo,_  
><em>psallite Domino<em>  
><em>qui fertis super caelum<em>  
><em>caeli ad Orientem<em>  
><em>Ecce dabit voci Suae<em>  
><em>vocem virtutis,<em>  
><em>tribuite virtutem Deo.<em>

_Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus_  
><em>omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio<em>  
><em>infernalis adversarii, omnis legio,<em>  
><em>omnis congregatio et secta diabolica.<em>

_Ergo draco maledicte_  
><em>et omnis legio diabolica adjuramus te.<em>  
><em>cessa decipere humanas creaturas,<em>  
><em>eisque aeternae Perditionis venenum propinare.<em>

_Vade, Satana, inventor et magister_  
><em>omnis fallaciae, hostis humanae salutis.<em>  
><em>Humiliare sub potenti manu dei,<em>  
><em>contremisce et effuge, invocato a<em>  
><em>nobis sancto et terribili nomine,<em>  
><em>quem inferi tremunt.<em>

_Ab insidiis diaboli, libera nos, Domine._  
><em>Ut Ecclesiam tuam secura tibi facias<em>  
><em>libertate servire, te rogamus, audi nos.<em>  
><em>Ut inimicos sanctae Ecclesiae humiliare digneris,<em>  
><em>te rogamus, audi nos.<em>

_Ut inimicos sanctae Ecclesiae_  
><em>te rogamus, audi nos.<em>

_Terribilis Deus de sanctuario suo._  
><em>Deus Israhel ipse truderit virtutem<em>  
><em>et fortitudinem plebi Suae.<em>  
><em>Benedictus Deus. Gloria Patri."<em>

Dean was almost short of breath when he finished, surprised he'd remembered it so well. He sat trying to gauge Cas's reaction for quite some time as the priest sat pulling his lips into his mouth and giving away nothing through his expression. Finally, Cas spoke, his eyes registering something like shock. "That..." he began, almost unsure if he should say what he meant to or simply drop the subject altogether, "is not just some dream-world exorcism... That is completely, totally, _real._ Dean, are you sure you've never heard that? Not _anywhere?_ Because if you are trying to be funny, if you are just messing with the priest right now, _please_ stop."

He looked so betrayed that Dean almost wanted to wrap him in a hug. The man almost made himself start to laugh, almost told Cas he'd been kidding and he was sorry. But he couldn't. He didn't want to lie to the man he'd only just learned to trust, and now he was way too damn freaked out to deny the help this priest might be able to afford him. "I swear I am not messing with you, Cas. And I swear I have never heard that before, not anywhere I remember anyway. And I _sure as hell_ have not heard it enough times to memorize it."

Cas simply sat there for what seemed like an eternity, wearing the blankest expression Dean had ever seen, his face going pale as a ghost. Finally, Dean broke the silence, interjecting one more small detail. "And Cas?" he began, continuing only after the priest gave a small nod of acknowledgment, "There's one more thing. The yellow-eyed guy, we uh... We call him by a name in the dreams, me and Sam."

"Wh-what is it?" Cas asked, stuttering like he was absolutely _forcing_ out something he _really _didn't want to say, begging a piece of information he _really _didn't want to know.

"Azazel?" Dean answered, making the word take on the air of a question even though he was absolutely certain that was the name. Cas's reaction was something Dean didn't even think possible- the man went even paler than he had been previously, positively blanching, turning the color of fresh-fallen snow, maybe lighter, as his mouth dropped open.

"I take it you know the name," Dean stated, certain it was the truth. A simple nod confirmed his fears.

* * *

><p><strong>Yes, it's a real exorcism, and did I ever read through a lot of them trying to find the one that would fit. And this one does. For a purpose which shall be later disclosed. <strong>

**On a side note, though, I'd quite like to take a moment to make known just how much Dean's "Some part of me always believed you'd come back." line in the preview for "The Born-Again Identity" affected me. So yep, DeanCas line appreciation. DeanCas appreciation in general actually. That's a _good line._**

**If you're reading this,_ thank you._ I hope you're enjoying it, and I truly appreciate everyone who is reading. Another (rather fun in my humble opinion) chapter shall soon be posted. As always, much love to the readers and the reviewers! **


	5. Peripeteia

**Chapter Five: Peripeteia**

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><p>Cas sat like that for quite some time, white as a ghost and completely, utterly silent, as Dean diverted his gaze, looking up at the ceiling, down at the floor, studying every picture in the room, as long as he wasn't looking at the priest sitting beside him. When sound finally overtook the silence, Dean almost jumped, almost like he'd expected the silence to linger forever. Cas cleared his throat, "Well Dean Winchester," he began, his voice shakier than he'd expected, "I have not the faintest shadow of an idea as to <em>what<em> is going on with you."

Dean just sighed. _Yeah, join the friggin' club,_ he thought bitterly. Then, seeing the almost pained look that crossed the other man's face, Cas amended his previous statement, "But I promise I will do _everything_ I can to figure it out. If I can save you, Dean, I _swear_ I will do _everything_ in my power to do just that."

The next few moments happened so quickly that Dean wasn't even sure exactly _what_ happened until much later. He'd seen a flood gate of sorts just break in Cas's blue eyes, giving them a spark Dean interpreted as some mixture of determination, protectiveness, and something else, something that looked most decidedly like _fascination,_ like the young priest was looking at the most interesting thing he had ever seen. At first, Dean thought he was simply captivated by the religious or psychological concepts of the man sitting before him in tattered jeans, heavy steel-toed boots, and a t-shirt whose color nearly matched the eyes of his companion, but then, something changed, something _clicked._ Some intrinsic, inexplicable fire ignited between them with such an intensity that Dean suddenly felt completely helpless, altogether at the mercy of the man sitting next to him.

And neither man consciously planned out what happened next, neither of them would ever have so much as _dared_ to. The way emerald green eyes connected with sapphire blue, they shared a look that spoke volumes without a single audible word. It was as if both men wanted _so badly _to just initiate something more, to _be_ something more, but both were afraid to start it, both feared exactly where it might go. And then Cas's arms were around Dean's waist and Cas was leaning back against the arm of the couch, pulling Dean down on him, sprawling the slightly larger man over himself like a blanket.

When their lips first met, both of their eyes were wide open, both too interested in seeing the other man's expression to bother with the expected gesture of closing them. However, as their lips danced together in the most perfect synchronization, Cas's azure eyes finally, _finally _fluttered shut. Dean's, on the other hand… well, they remained open for quite a while longer. He was so sure that if he closed them, this wouldn't be real anymore. He couldn't shake the thought that if he stopped _watching,_ this wouldn't be happening, everything would just disintegrate like the fibers of a dream in the morning and he'd shoot up in his scratchy little bed, alone in his motel room, waking from the first _good_ dream he'd had in weeks. Part of him just had to be sure it was happening, and another part just wanted to _see_ it happen. However, when Cas's hands reached backward, bracing himself against the couch as his tongue moved out to press against Dean's lower lip, deepening the kiss, it was only a matter of seconds before Dean's eyes closed as well.

Dean wound one arm under the small of Castiel's back, supporting the way the other man was arching up into him as his other hand was winding its way through Cas's dark hair. Dean braced himself against Cas's warm body, ready for the shock of being pulled out of this. In his mind, it had to be another dream. It just _had to be._ But as he tightened against Cas, inadvertently grinding his hips downward and pressing him harder into the couch, the only jolt Dean received was that of Cas's hips bucking back up against his as his mouth opened slightly more and he let out this little moan that just made Dean _crazy._ So Dean deepened the kiss further, his tongue darting between Cas's lips, playing shapes across the inside of his mouth as Cas made more little noises of disbelief or pleasure or _whatever._ Dean didn't even care. As long as he kept hearing Cas, as long as he knew _he_ was the one eliciting such a response from the other man, as long as this was _real, _he was happy. _Ecstatic_ actually.

Then it was done. As quickly as it had been initiated, it was finished. The only difference was that although Dean had not the slightest inkling of an idea aboutwho _started_ it, he was one hundred perfect _positive _that Cas had been the one stopping it. There was no question there; had it been up to Dean, they'd probably have been tangled up on that couch _forever._

Cas's mouth dropped open as he pulled away. Wiggling his way out from under Dean, he was standing in a corner across the room within seconds, just standing there with his back to Dean, staring out the window of his little house like he was looking for any spy who might've caught them, completely just stayed put in his tossed-about position on Cas's couch, studying the priest's back for any sign of what he was feeling. He _had to be_ feeling _something,_ right?

When Cas finally spoke what seemed like an eternity later, his voice was little more than a shaky whisper, letting go of one single word. "Leave."

"Cas, I-" Dean began, watching Cas shiver as a sob wracked his frame.

"_No_, Dean. Leave. _Now,_" Cas cut him off, still facing the window.

In a shocked fog, Dean simply did what Cas asked. He picked himself up off the couch, whose cushions were now misaligned as a shadow of what had just happened there, and walked out the door. He could feel Cas's eyes on him as he walked across the lawn back toward the church, but he didn't cast a single look backwards. It wouldn't have helped.

* * *

><p><strong>The web is getting a tad more tangled. I nearly considered ending the chapter in a more serendipitous state and leaving the last bit for the next chapter... But then I decided against that. In any case, another chapter shall hopefully be posted soon. Hope you enjoyed this! <strong>

**A PART OF ME ALWAYS BELIEVED THAT YOU'D COME BACK. I just really _really_ love that line. Oh Friday... **

**As always, opinions are much appreciated. **


	6. Dazed and Confused

**Chapter Six: Dazed and Confused **

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><p>When Sam pulled the Impala back into the church parking lot nearly an hour later, he was surprised to see his brother sitting on the gravel ground. Dean had dropped to the pavement the second he'd reached the parking lot, the second he was out of the line of view from Cas's living room window. He'd been sitting there with his back against the trunk of a tree, knees pulled up to form a resting place for his elbows, head in his hands, and eyes tightly shut the entire time.<p>

Sam skidded to a stop in the parking spot closest to the tree, hopping out before the car came to a complete halt. "Dean?" he called, walking swiftly toward his brother, "Are you ok?"

Before lifting his face, Dean schooled his features into a smile, which may or may not have worked; Dean couldn't be sure, because Sam's expression let on _nothing_. "I'm fine. Cas is... Busy. So I was waiting for you. Speaking of which, in what _universe_ does it take _that_ long to get _breakfast_?"

At some point during the brothers' conversation, Gabriel had meandered over to them. "In _this_ universe. Clearly."

"Was I _talking_ to you?" Dean asked, needing some release of the overbearing emotions building up inside of him. Gabriel was just an easy target.

"Do I _care?"_ the little man shot back, mocking Dean's tone.

And Dean was on his feet in record time, grabbing Gabriel by the front of his shirt and spinning them around to push him against the tree, lifting the shorter man's feet off the ground easily. "Apparently not. But you _should_ care," he replied menacingly, his face dangerously close to Gabriel'sas he no less than growled out his answer.

"Guys, stop!" Sam cut in, trying to place himself between his brother and Gabriel and adding, "Please..." when he reached a position from which he could meet Dean's eyes.

Dean always wondered whether or not Sam realized that those stupid puppy-dog eyes were always a weak spot for him. But regardless, they were a _very _weak spot, so Dean dropped Gabriel, turning and walking to the Impala the second the other man's feet hit the ground. He got into his car, and leaned his head against the steering wheel, finally finding a little solace.

The drive back to the motel was quite nearly silent, until Sam chose to speak. And by the time his little brother finished, Dean almost wished he'd just remained silent. "I'm sorry..." Sam began, "About… all that."

Dean just nodded.

"It's just... I just... Didn't want either of you to get hurt," Sam struggled, and Dean could almost hear the gears cranking in his head, trying to find a way to put his girlish little feelings into words.

Another nod.

"I know you don't like him Dean, but he's... He's... He's..."

"Are you a broken fucking record, Sammy? Spit it out." The harshness of his words caused even Dean to cringe against them.

"My... Uh, friend," Sam finished, but by the way he spoke, Dean could very well tell 'friend' wasn't the word Sam wanted to use.

"Yeah, ok. I don't believe that. Not for a minute. So, wanna tell me what's _really_ going on? Cause if not, fine, just shut up. But don't fucking lie to me, Sam."

Sam took a deep breath, fighting some invisible barrier he had up in his mind that _really_ didn't want to let his next words slip. But, nonetheless, they did. "I _like_ him, Dean. Ok?"

Dean bit his bottom lip and looked upwards at the sky outside his window as he drove, not quite knowing _what_ to say. Honestly, he had nothing against Sam being gay. Or whatever. How could he when he was pretty far down that track himself? But Gabriel? _Gabriel?_ Wasn't their ridiculous height difference enough, before Dean even considered how freaking _obnoxious_ the little guy was?

"You... you don't have to say anything, Dean. I just... Had to tell someone because I'm... _Confused._ I don't like men. I never have. But he's... He's..." Sam stuttered, falling back into the incessant repetition of a broken record.

There came a certain, copious, amount of time, coupled with an equally copious amount of 'He's' which made Dean realize that he simply had to say something, if only just to stop Sam from rambling on and on. "Amazing? Perfect? _Different?"_ Dean offered, using the words he'd love to use for Cas, figuring Gabriel was likely falling into the same category for Sam. Well, minus the whole 'I just made out with a priest on his living room couch then he kicked me out of his house' thing. Of course.

Sam turned in his seat, smiling mischievously at his brother like some little girl at her best friend after a game of Truth of Dare at a sleepover. _Oh God,_ Dean thought, _Chick-flicky bonding over our insane little crushes..._

"Yeah, actually," Sam agreed, "That about covers it. Sounds like it's coming from someone who understands...?" he tried, testing the waters, seeing how willing Dean might have been to give away a secret of his own.

"No." was Dean's automatic response. "They were just suggestions for you."

Sam laughed, probably hearing that same lie in Dean's voice, the one Dean had heard in his earlier, but Sam didn't push the issue. He knew Dean wasn't as prone to giving in as he was. "Are you... freaked out? 'Cause I understand if you are. I mean, _I _am..." Sam asked, his eyes showing that he was afraid his big brother might disapprove, might be ashamed.

"No, Sam," Dean answered protectively, "Of course not. Why would I be freaked out?"

"Because your little brother just confessed to you that he has come to the realization that he likes another man...?"

Dean laughed. He didn't mean to, and it was hardly a humorous laugh, but Sam flinched at the sound of it regardless. "Sam, after everything we've been through... You can like whomever you damn well please. It happens. It's fine."

Sam nodded, glad Dean hadn't reacted in the way he had originally feared. Dean sure as hell did not approve of _Gabriel_ of all people, but that was another discussion for another time. Dean was all feelings-ed out.

The rest of the drive, along with the rest of the day, passed in near-silence. Sam needed time to think. Dean needed _a lot_ of time to think. And they both respected that in each other, somehow each mutually supporting their brother even through the quiet in that way they'd mastered years ago. They were simply _present, _just _there _for each other should they need something, and that was enough.

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><p><strong>Hope you all enjoyed that. As always, reviews and opinions are much appreciated! <strong>


	7. Your Eyes as Foreign Candles

**Chapter Seven: Your Eyes as Foreign Candles**

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><p><em>I should talk to him.<em>

_ I should leave him alone._

_ No, I should probably go talk to him._

_ Damn it._

Dean tossed and turned all night, once again. The sunlight he saw streaming through the streaky glass of the little window between his and Sam's beds told him he'd been up all night, and he still hadn't committed to any path of action. The only decision he made was that he _really_ needed to figure out what the hell to do. When Sam finally stirred, Dean stifled a fake yawn, and as his brother swung his legs over the side of the bed, Dean pretending to be blinking away sleep.

"Morning, Dean," Sam said with a smile as he walked past his brother's bed, toward the bathroom. "We heading over to the Church today?"

_Shit._ What was Dean supposed to do now? Pretend to be sick? Or too tired? Tell Sam he hadn't slept all night, or that he wanted to go to some tourist attraction for the day and make this a real vacation? Yeah, no. Probably not the latter, considering the serious lack of _anything_ of particular interest in Pontiac, Illinois.

"Yeah, course." Dean couldn't stop himself. He hadn't even considered agreeing to Sam's notion, but somehow the words formed themselves in his mouth. And there went that.

Before Dean knew it, he was sitting in the passenger's seat of the Impala, parked in the church lot with his hands shaking. He'd been pulling nervously at a hole in his jeans the entire ride, causing Sam to laugh at him, asking Dean why he was so nerved up. Dean lied, telling Sam he wasn't nervous and that he was simply trying to place the thread in a way such that it would be hindered from unraveling any further.

"Gonna go in, or did you want to join me and Gabe for breakfast?" Sam finally asked, worry creasing his forehead as he cast a sidelong glance at Dean from the driver's side.

"No, I'm... Going now," Dean answered, stepping out of the Impala and taking a few deep breaths on his short walk to the front door.

His footsteps echoed strangely on the tile flooring of the church's entryway. Or maybe it was his heartbeat causing that almighty sound. Dean didn't know.

"Woah, Dean-o. What what _what_ are you doing here?" Gabriel asked, his voice carrying from behind Dean.

As Dean turned, he saw the little guy poking his head out of a side door. "Ca- Father Novak here?" Dean asked, trying to remain civil with his brother's... boyfriend. Or _whatever_ he was.

"I can say with reasonable certainty that Father Novak is not expecting anyone. He told me that he should be left alone this morning. Did you have an appointment?" Gabriel questioned, confusion lacing his eyes.

So Cas didn't want visitors. Awesome. "Uh," Dean stammered, "I just... Need to talk to him. He here?"

Gabriel weighed his options for a moment, still peeking out from around the door while gripping its frame. "He's... in the confessional. Just knock first, he sounded like he _really_ didn't wanna be bothered this morning. And if he tells you to leave, for God's sake Dean, _just do it._"

"Yeah, thanks," Dean called over his shoulder, already trying to build a little confidence and stop his hands from shaking as he took the first few steps toward the little room where he'd first met Cas.

"Wait, Dean?" Gabriel yelled after him, forcing him to turn back around.

"What _Gabriel?"_

"I... I appreciate how kind you were to Sam. And to me," he said, surprising Dean with his sincerity, something he'd never before seen in Gabriel. "And if Father Novak asks, I did _not_ inform you of his whereabouts. Ok? Ok."

Dean chuckled, shaking his head as he turned back toward the little confessional. Maybe that guy wasn't _so_ bad. Dean silently promised himself that he'd at least give Gabriel a second chance, a clean slate. Or maybe it was an attempt at bargaining- _I promise to give Gabriel a second chance if Cas will give me one,_ he amended, not even sure _whom _he was addressing, just giving the bargaining thing a try.

With one more shaky, deep breath, Dean brought his hand up to knock on the confessional door. Coherent thought left him when his hand first hit the wood of the door, pushing the thick barrier open immediately. It had never been closed properly.

Cas had his back to the little room's sole path of both entrance and exit, facing the monstrous stained glass window which cast strange, colorful shadows over the whole room, making his black-clad figure stand out even more sharply. He was kneeling on a little confession kneeler, leaning his head into his hands, which were folded in apparent prayer. He hardly moved when Dean opened the door, but some small detail, or maybe just some intrinsic knowledge, told Dean that the other man felt his presence.

After what seemed like an eternity to Dean, frozen at the door with his hand still raised in the knocking position, Cas stirred ever so slightly, but still didn't turn about. "Dean," he commented simply, not a question, but a statement.

He finally lifted his head as Dean cleared his throat, unable to speak. "I was expecting you," the priest continued, and somehow Dean had a feeling that was the truth. "You're here. You might as well come in."

Dean did as he was told, blindly following Castiel's instructions, just as he had the day before. Cas pushed the kneeler against the wall of the room, taking a seat in a chair in the corner as he gestured for Dean to take the seat opposite him, assuming the same positions they had on that very first day they met.

They sat for a while, Cas's cerulean eyes connecting with Dean's emerald eyes, sparks igniting in the same way they always had. Dean could've sworn he felt his pants growing far too tight, but he couldn't be sure. Coherency was still failing him.

"I need a favor." It was a simple statement, and Cas kept his voice entirely steady over it.

Finally, Dean woke up, the thrill Cas's words sent through him helping him to find his own voice. "Mhm, anything."

"Dean, I need to be reported. I should not be allowed to get away with what I've done; I _need_ you to report me to my superiors, to the diocese, to Rome even- just to someone." The words sounded somehow alien coming out of Castiel's mouth, like they weren't even being spoken in English. The pain Dean saw deep in those blue eyes wrenched at his heart, and he could feel his own eyes watering, mirroring the action in Castiel's.

"No," was Dean's simple answer, a hollow shell of his normal voice, cracked and broken.

"_Dean,"_ Cas continued, more fiercely, "I am a priest. Just for starters, that does imply that I'm supposed to live a life of solitude, never taking part in romantic gestures. Just to add insult to injury for that rule, I am _especially_ not supposed to be intimate with another _man,_ particularly not one who came to me for _help._ I was supposed to make your life easier, not more difficult. I was supposed to aid you in the delicate process of overcoming your past, to make you less vulnerable. Instead, I took advantage of your vulnerability. I failed in my true task, Dean. Miserably. I cannot go unpunished." By the time he neared the end of his words, something changed in Castiel's eyes. The previously warm, sad azure changed, looking more like the frozen arctic sea, cold and unattached.

"No," Dean repeated, schooling his voice to make sure it stayed steady. "I won't Cas. _It takes two._ You didn't do it alone. It was just as much my fault as it was yours, probably _more_ my fault. And just for the record, you _have _helped me. _Tremendously. _In _everything _you've done, you've _only_ helped me. I _forgive_ you. It's ok, Cas, it really is. I promise." And Dean wasn't kidding. In the little bit of sleep he'd gotten since he'd met the battered, shaken young priest sitting before him, not a single dream had haunted his slumbers. He knew, deep inside, that Cas _was_ helping, that the connection with another human was finally awakening Dean from the nightmarish fog he'd been held captive by for weeks.

Castiel laughed at that, but it wasn't the deep, rich tone his voice usually carried. This was something else entirely, so dry of humor that it sent a chill up Dean's spine. "It is, _by no means,_ okay, Dean. Not even a little bit. I took advantage of a man defenseless and weakened by events outside of himself. Have you any idea what that means Dean, about me? Don't you see how terrible that was of me?"

Dean shook his head, swallowing hard to force back the hot tears stinging at his eyes. "Cas, I- _no."_

Cas shot a puzzled glare downward toward his pants, and then sighed, blinking very slowly as he looked back up. "See Dean? I _cannot_ be around you... I just can't," he whispered, the ice-cold detachment melting as he shook his head.

"Then I..." Dean began, knowing what he wanted to say but unable to actually force the words out. Cas cradled his head in his hands as an involuntary shiver ran through him, a fine tremor forcing its way down his spine, much like it had the day before. When Dean finally spoke, he heard his own voice cracking in a way he'd never heard before heard it do. "Then I will stay away from you." There. It was said. It couldn't be unsaid, and much as Dean regretted it, he knew it had been necessary.

"Not enough," came Cas's barely audible response. Then, he picked up his head and stared at Dean with those frozen eyes once more. "If you will not report me, I will ask Gabriel to say I kissed _him_ instead. Or maybe I'll _pay_ an altar boy to report me. Dean, I _must_ serve a penance equal in proportion to my actions. _I have to._ And if you won't help me to do that penance, I will enlist the help of another."

Dean froze. He wasn't sure if Cas was bluffing or not, but judging by the steel resolve Dean heard in his voice, the guy sounded pretty damn serious. "Cas... No. Please... just... make me a deal? Please, if I agree not to see you anymore, will you please just keep this a secret?" But Dean could see that Cas wasn't wavering. "Father Novak," he tried, more formally, feeling his chest tug as he addressed the man by his full name, "I do believe you told me that everything that happened between us would be held in confidentiality. Please honor your promise to me? _Please_?"

Ah, there was the weak spot. Cas cracked under the pressure, shaking his head with a sad little smile; he knew he was bound by the seal of the confessional, bound by a promise he made, "Dean Winchester, you are _unbelievable._ You know I'm going to feel guilty about this for the rest of eternity, yes?"

Just as Castiel wouldn't waver only moments before, Dean stood his ground in an equally obstinate way presently. "Well, that's your choice. But I'm asking you, no I'm _begging_ you, not to. It wasn't your fault Father Novak, none of it was. I told you once and I'll tell you again, _it takes two._ I'm sorry I've messed up your life so much, but please forgive yourself like I've already forgiven you. And as for me, you'll never have to see me again, I'll disappear forever. Like a wise man once told me, it's not your fault."

"Dean, you haven't messed up my-" Cas began, and Dean could hear tears in the priest's voice, but he was already gone.

"Thank you," he whispered as he walked out the door, "_for everything,_" and with that, Dean Winchester stepped away from the church for what he fully intended to be the last time, tears clouding his vision.

His feet smacked harder and harder against the pavement with every step. Out the door, through the parking lot, he didn't stop. He just kept running, going wherever his feet carried him. Tears fell to the pavement from the eyes of the man who hardly ever did cry, as Dean ran, faster and faster away from Cas, feeling the strongest regret of his life at the thought of not sticking around, of leaving Cas when he really needed him. But he wouldn't turn back. This was what Father Novak wanted.


End file.
